


loose tongues and empty cups

by ohmyloki



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Drunk Bard, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut, Spans Pre-Hobbit to Post-BOTFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyloki/pseuds/ohmyloki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Bard drank a little too much and 1 time he didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpanglesandSass (Fidella)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fidella/gifts).



> This was originally part of [a series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/205016), but I felt it would work better as a multi-chaptered fic. I'm sorry for any inconvenience!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard starts his new job transporting Mirkwood's empty barrels. No one ever told him there was supposed to be an interview.

A job was a job, Bard thought as he rolled the last of the barrels onto his barge. It may not have been particularly rewarding or challenging, but at least it kept him out from under the nose of the Master and put food on the table. In a strange way, Bard found himself enjoying the brief respite it provided him. The calm waters and quiet forest had a way of relaxing him that he couldn’t seem to find elsewhere, at least not within the cramped and crowded Laketown. An afternoon corralling empty barrels on the edges of Mirkwood, however, helped clear his mind. Sometimes he even found himself sitting on shore, enjoying the view. For all the dark, fell things that he knew inhabited the trees, it was still a beautiful sight to behold even on its worst day.

On one such day, not two moons since he’d started the daily trips up and down the river, Bard found himself sitting upon a rock on shore just downstream from his boat. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp scent of autumn on the air, and let his eyes rove over the now-golden trees. So lost in thought was he, that he did not notice he was no longer alone until someone gently cleared their throat.

Bard was on his feet in an instant, reaching for an arrow before he realized he had left his bow and quiver in the barge. His glanced over and found them lying atop a barrel.  _Stupid_ , he thought.  _What use is a weapon if you cannot reach it in time?_ But before he could contemplate his next move, a soft voice filled the air.

“Master… Bard, is it?”

He realized quickly that not only was this no man, but was indeed an elf! Relief flooded him immediately as the female elf with long red hair, stared at him with an amused smirk set upon her lips. The daggers at her waist and the bow held casually in her hand, however, gave him pause. She was no mere citizen of Mirkwood. But what dealings could she possibly have with him?

“Aye,” he responded.

“King Thranduil has requested your presence.”

The summons is so unusual that for a moment Bard’s mind goes blank. This was his first encounter with an elf that involved an actual exchange of words, and now he had been asked to meet with the King? What is one supposed to say to that? A look of concern crossed over the elf’s face and he realized his silence must have stretched for far too long.

“I’m sorry… You said the King wants to meet with me.”

“Yes,” she replied, as if there was nothing strange about the request at all. “I am to escort you back to our halls.”

“Why would King Thranduil want to meet with the lowly bargeman that takes his empty barrels?” He asked.

“Our King wishes to know about everything that goes on in his kingdom. Up to and including the… bargeman that takes his empty barrels.” She said simply. “He is quite careful about those he allows to have regular dealings with the elves.”

“And does King Thranduil not trust the word of the Master of Laketown?” Bard asked, curiosity giving way to bluntness.

The elf simply narrowed her gaze and looked at him, appraising.

“Tell me, Bard of Laketown,” she said. “Would  _you_?”

* * *

 

Tauriel, as she introduced herself not long after they began their journey through the trees, was Captain of the King’s Guard, and she was no fool. Bard took a liking to her immediately.

“I wonder,” he said. “Are you any good with that bow?”

Tauriel lifted an eyebrow at him. “One does not become Captain without being any ‘good’,” she said.

Bard grinned.

“I would ask the same of you in return,” she said, eyeing the quiver over his shoulder. “It does seem odd that a man with any skill would be parted from his weapon as you were when I found you. Especially in these woods.”

Bard found himself laughing at her jest. “A mistake I will not make again, I assure you,” he said.

“I am assured,” she replied, laughter in her eyes.

The exchange seemed to settle something between them and they spent the rest of their journey making idle conversation. Bard learned a little of what to expect of King Thranduil, and a bit about the King’s son and close friend of Tauriel. In turn he shared a bit of his own life, telling Tauriel about Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda. He was sure his pride was coating every word if the smile on her face was anything to go by.

He was under no false impression that he would be seeing Tauriel again after this day, knowing how little the elves of Mirkwood had dealings with the men of Laketown, but he was pleased to have met her all the same. Indeed, Bard wondered how the elves could have developed the reputation among men of being cold and uncaring if they were all like Tauriel.

They moved swiftly and, in no time at all, they found themselves approaching a great tree standing at the edge of a clearing. The change in Tauriel’s demeanor was nearly palpable, and a silence fell between them as they entered the clearing.

Immediately, Bard’s eyes were drawn to the massive antlers adorning the large Elk the stood near the other end of the open area. And patting its nose idly, facing away from them, could be none other than the King.

Tauriel stepped forward. “My Lord, I’ve brought--”

“Bard. Of Laketown. Yes, I know.” The deep voice resonated through the clearing. “Thank you, Tauriel.”

Clearly dismissed, Tauriel nodded once and turned to leave. She spared a quick look to Bard, almost apologetically, before she made her way back from whence they came. Bard watched her go before turning back to face the King.

“Please, take a seat,” the Elvenking said, turning his head just enough for Bard to catch a glimpse of a profile.

Bard looked around and spotted a table upon a platform of stone just to his left. He made his way over and sat carefully in one of the two rather ornate chairs positioned at either end of it. Unsure of what to say, unsure of if he should speak at all, Bard remained silent and a moment to observe the King of the Woodland Realm.

He was tall, Bard thought, far taller than had been expected. Upon his head sat a most unusual crown of twigs and autumn leaves and the blond hair beneath it shone brightly in the midday sun, laying flat on his back without a braid in sight. The long, golden robe he wore trailed behind him in the grass but otherwise fit tightly against his body. The way his hands were now clasped casually behind his back showed the lithe muscle that lay beneath the fabric.

Everything about the Elvenking felt like it had been carefully prepared in advance. From the way he stood, to his air of indifference to Bard’s presence. It was as dramatic as if it was a scene set from a play.

“You are a descendent of the men of Dale,” Thranduil said suddenly.

“Aye,” Bard confirmed, though it hadn’t been a question.

“A direct descendent of Girion, Lord of Dale, if I’m not mistaken,” Thranduil added.

Bard had the feeling it had been a long, long time since Thranduil had been mistaken.

“Yes,” he replied, unsure. The Master of Laketown certainly took this fact as a personal affront. Bard was uncertain how the Elvenking would deem it.

“I knew Girion,” Thranduil said. “He was a good man.”

A moment passed and Thranduil turned around, finally looking at Bard. Crystal blue eyes met his own and Bard couldn’t help the sudden dip his stomach took. The Elvenking was beautiful. There was no other word for it. But it was not a warm, loving beauty. It was cold and hard, like the steel of a fresh blade, sharp angles and perfectly smooth skin.

Thranduil eyed him for a moment before he approached the table and casually filled a goblet from the pitcher in the middle. He set it down in front of Bard before reaching for the second, filling his own before taking the open seat.

Bard hated to admit it, but he was impressed at the way Thranduil exuded royalty even in the smallest movements, such as the way he sat in a chair, chin held high. Bard lifted the goblet from the table and took a small sip, flavor bursting onto his tongue, followed immediately by a warm buzz that flowed through his body. He took a deeper drink before setting the cup back down. It was no wonder why there were a dozen empty barrels floating down the river every day, he thought.

Thranduil watched him impassively, as if he was nothing more than a fallen leaf swirling through the air. Not for the first time, Bard wondered why he had been summoned there.

Biting his tongue on the more boorish approaches that entered his mind, he simply asked, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I’m not sure I understand why you have--”

“How did you come about this occupation?” Thranduil asked.

Bard bristled at the interruption but answered all the same. “It was offered to me, rather forcefully, by the Master of Laketown.”

The tilt to Thranduil’s head implored him to explain. “I suspect he rather enjoys my absence.”

“And why is that?” Thranduil asked.

Bard straightened in his seat and tilted his chin up. “I have no idea,” he lied.

He thought he saw a flicker of a smile cross the Elvenking’s lips, but it was gone too quick to be sure. He took another drink as he waited for whatever Thranduil might ask next; enjoying the pleasant feeling that spread through his bones as the liquid touched his lips.

“Tell me, Bard of Laketown, why is the descendent of Girion, Lord of Dale, doing such a menial task as transporting my empty barrels?”

Bard clenched his jaw and met Thranduil’s gaze, unwavering. “Dale is a ruin next to the mountain that the people of Laketown care little to remember. What I do remember,  _daily_ , are the mouths I have to feed.”

The answer seemed to catch Thranduil off guard and he looked at Bard with the most open expression he’d yet to display. Mild curiosity.

“Children?” Thranduil asked.

“Aye.” Bard was content to leave the topic there but, after another mouthful of wine, he found his tongue had loosened. “Three, in fact. Two daughters and a son, none older than seven,” he added.

“And their mother?” Thranduil asked.

“My girls take after her. She was beautiful,” Bard said. He was silent then, letting the meaning sink in.

“I am sorry,” Thranduil said.

Bard thought that he might actually be sincere.

A moment passed before Thranduil spoke again. “I have a son,” he said, looking caught off guard by his own words.

“Legolas,” Bard said. “Tauriel spoke of him.”

The look in Thranduil’s eyes indicated he was not pleased with his Captain sharing such information and Bard sent an apology to the heavens as he drained the rest of his cup. Luckily, the indiscretion seemed to have no ill effect on the begrudging conversation between Bard and the King.

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Legolas is not quite so young but he is indeed… spirited.”

“Spoken like a true father,” Bard laughed, surprising himself. “I am already sprouting grey hairs at the thought of boys calling on my daughters when they grow.”

Bard smiled ruefully, looking down at his empty goblet, his head buzzing pleasantly from drink. When he looked back up there was no mistaking the curve to Thranduil’s lips. There were indeed the makings of a very small smile this time. And Bard found his eyes unerringly drawn to them.

He was under no illusion about the nature of the elf that sat in front of him. Thranduil was captivating, but Bard knew that underneath the calm exterior lay a violent storm ready to lay waste to those most deserving.

But lord was he beautiful.

The expression on Thranduil’s face changed swiftly and Bard had a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Did I say that aloud?” He asked.

“Indeed. It seems your tolerance is much weaker than I would have expected,” Thranduil said, indicating the bottle of wine in the middle of the table.

Bard narrowed his eyes at the King, wondering if he should feel insulted. Before he could decide, Thranduil stood from the table swiftly, ever the epitome of grace. Bard tried to follow suit but found his boot caught by the leg of his chair. He stumbled against the table as he righted himself. Thranduil watched, and Bard hoped that it was amusement instead of annoyance that flashed across the King’s face.

Thranduil raised a hand and Tauriel appeared at the tree line, briskly making her way to them. Bard wondered how long she had been waiting there. If the smile she was trying to hide was any indication, he would have to say she bore witness to the whole conversation.

“You will see him back to the river safely,” Thranduil said.

“Of course, my lord,” Tauriel replied.

Thranduil turned back to Bard. "It is late and you must return to your children.” He paused and looked over Bard’s shoulder to the trees beyond. “This forest is not as safe as it once was, I would not wander about unarmed, were I you.”

Bard nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”

Thranduil turned away, heading towards the elk, which had made its way to the far end of the clearing. His parting words were spoken over his shoulder. “Do not thank me, Bargeman,” he said. “I would be loathe to find a replacement when you have been at the job so briefly.”

Bard thought that it might be the closest thing to approval he would ever get from the Elvenking.

* * *

 

By the time he and Tauriel had made it back to the river, the sun was setting and Bard’s head was clear of the haze of wine. Instead he found himself sinking into a fog of embarrassment and horror at what had just transpired.

“I would not worry,” Tauriel said as Bard unwound the rope keeping his boat docked. “King Thranduil has seen worse... The Woodland Elves are quite fond of their drink. From where I stood it seemed he took a liking to you.”

Bard stared at her incredulously. “That’s what you call a liking?”

Tauriel laughed. “When you have known him as long as I, even the smallest of tells can reveal the largest of secrets.”

Bard shook his head but didn’t pursue the topic further. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before they said their farewells and he set off for Laketown. As he steered his way back home, he found himself hoping it would not be the last he saw of Tauriel, he found her good company and friendly faces were few and far between for him.

He remained undecided about Thranduil.

* * *

 

A few days later, Bard had almost put the experience behind him entirely when he came home to a small wooden box sitting at his door. Taking it inside, he noted that there was no writing on it, no indication of what it might be. He slid the top off carefully and peered inside.

He laughed to himself as he pulled out a bottle of wine, the very same kind of which he had shared with the Elvenking.

The embarrassment of the conversation having long since faded, Bard smile and appreciated the jest for what it was.

 _A liking to him_ , indeed.

 


	2. Intense Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil offers Bard his wine but affords no such courtesy to Gandalf. Is it just a slight against the wizard, or is there another point being made to Bard?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [spanglesandsass](http://spanglesandsass.tumblr.com/). The conversations I had with her about this fic/scene was the beginning of this entire series. <3

"I can see you know nothing of wizards,” Thranduil said, standing and moving to the table. “They are like winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm.”

Thranduil held out a glass and Bard took it without thought, eyes still trained thoughtfully on the man whom Thranduil had called a wizard. He listened as Thranduil ignored the advice given to him and, for the first time, Bard wondered if the Elvenking was just willfully ignorant or truly that confident in his own perceived rightness. Bard strongly suspected it was the latter.

As Gandalf’s words continued to fall on deaf ears, Bard glanced down at the goblet in his hand. He had seen the bottle Thranduil had poured from and knew well enough what it contained. What he hadn’t expected is how very little had ended up in his glass. His eyes narrowed. The scant amount, no more than two tablespoons, could have easily been dismissed as an oversight in a hasty but immature snub to Gandalf, a polite offering to Bard when the wizard received none, but Bard knew better.

For as little experience that Bard had with the Elvenking, he knew immediately that it was not just an impromptu slight against the wizard. It was a pointed jest at Bard himself. After their prior meeting, the Elvenking must think that he could not hold his drink, Bard realized. While he was not ashamed to admit that the mild playfulness the elf was displaying sent a small surge of excitement through him, he narrowed his eyes and glanced at Thranduil, whose lips twitched minutely when he noticed Bard’s gaze upon him. The small streak of pride within Bard had taken a hit, but he tilted his chin up all the same as he listened to Gandalf’s warning.

Gandalf turned and moved toward the tent’s opening to the platform that overlooked Erebor and Thranduil glided effortlessly behind him. Unthinking, Bard downed the two mouthfuls before he set the glass down on the table to follow the others outside. It wasn’t until he went to lift his first leg to ascend the small staircase behind Thranduil that he realized his mistake.

His foot catching on the first step brought his attention to the sudden buzz that coursed through his body. A warm, pleasant feeling that was vaguely familiar to Bard from years before. He recovered from the slip swiftly enough that it would go by unnoticed by most people. However, the sidelong glance Thranduil gave him when Bard reached the top step next to him indicated that the elf was not ‘most people’. Bard glared at him for a moment before they both returned their attention to the wizard.

Thranduil may have had a point, Bard realized. Bard had a tendency to get lost in his own head when inebriated and while he was still cognizant enough to take in Gandalf’s words, he found himself paying more attention to the random thoughts that flitted through his mind than he should. His first act as a leader of his people, he thought, and he’s going to make a complete and total ass of himself in front of two of the most powerful people he’d ever encountered.

Thranduil’s voice brought Bard back to what was happening in front of him.

“These orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir… Where are they?” Thranduil asked.

Bard turned to him as he spoke and found himself struck by how beautiful Thranduil’s hair was, making him reflect briefly on the time he had spent braiding and brushing Sigrid and Tilda’s hair when they were younger. It was at this point his mind provided him with an amusing image of Thranduil, in all his regal glory, sitting with Tilda in his lap as he carefully plaited her dark locks.

Bard snorted. Gandalf trailed into silence amidst another one of his tirades. Thranduil simply looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” Bard said, clearing his throat and crossing his arms over his chest. “Please continue.”

Gandalf gave him a long searching look before he started up again. Bard glanced at Thranduil, who smirked in response. Cheeky elf, he thought.

Bard turned away from him again, intent on ignoring Thranduil and trying to act like he wasn’t unsure of what to do with his face. He tried to appear stoic and concerned but he was quite certain that he looked confused and bewildered instead.

* * *

Further discussions were had, orders were given, and Bard took his leave of the two bickering adults in amazement that two beings so old could still be so childish. Bard’s mood was distinctly dour until the halfling turned up and he felt the first hints of optimism since Thorin had turned him away earlier that day. The light feeling, thankfully, had nothing to do with the effects of the wine that had now all but dissipated.

After, Gandalf led Bilbo from the tent, enveloped in conversation. Bard made to follow them, to show them a warm place to sleep for the night, but Thranduil’s voice stopped him.

“Dragonslayer. A moment.”

Bard turned back, watching as Thranduil moved to the table again. He poured himself a glass and glanced up at Bard.

“Wine?” He asked.

Bard narrowed his eyes. “You seem to enjoy plying me with alcohol. Do you wish to get me drunk, my lord?”

He seemed to have caught Thranduil off guard with the bold question, surprise moved quickly across his face before he recovered and gave Bard an amused look.

“I am merely being hospitable. I cannot be blamed for your… delicate constitution,” Thranduil said.

Bard barely stopped himself from gaping. Before he could retort, Thranduil spoke again.

“I will admit, you are quite amusing when intoxicated. And so few things amuse me these days,” he said.

“I’m glad I could provide you with entertainment,” Bard hissed. “Goodness knows there’s naught else for me to attend to this night.”

Thranduil smirked, dismissing Bard’s outrage. “Save your indignation for another time, Bowman. I did not ask you here just to provoke you… As much as I do enjoy doing so. I wish to discuss strategy.”

Bard clenched his jaw, biting back further unkind words. “As you wish, my lord,” he agreed.

A quiet truce settled between them as Thranduil laid out his plan. It surprised Bard that Thranduil wished to entrust him with the Arkenstone, but he could not deny that Thorin would be more likely to trust him than the elf, even if only marginally. An hour later, Bard could no longer suppress his yawns. Thranduil looked up from where he was folding the gem back into the cloth.

“You’ve had a long few days, Bowman. There will be longer ones yet. Go. Get your rest. Tomorrow will see if the dwarves can find reason.” Thranduil said, with no hint of optimism.

“You still believe there will be war?” Bard asked.

“For as much as you may call a confrontation with thirteen dwarves and a hobbit a war, then yes.” Thranduil said.

Bard stood. “Time will tell, I suppose,” he said, hoping they were all wrong. “Goodnight, King Thranduil.”

“Bard?” Thranduil asked before he could get too far.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure I cannot tempt you?” He asked.

Bard’s started in surprise, his stomach swooping. Thranduil was truly beautiful, if not just a little terrifying in his splendor. Bard would not lie to himself and say he didn’t feel an attraction to him, that he wasn’t just the tiniest bit tempted to see if Thranduil’s hair felt as soft as it looked, to see if his lean body hid a powerful strength, but surely that could not be--

“You mean the wine?” Bard blurted out.

Thranduil’s eyebrows went up.

“No, not tonight.” Bard said quickly, cursing his prior assumption. “There is much yet to be done, I fear what ills even another sip would bring me.”

Thranduil’s lips twitched.

“Perhaps another time,” Thranduil said, speaking cautiously. There was a sudden tension between them that had not been there before, no doubt caused by Bard’s presumption, and Bard no longer felt that Thranduil was talking about the wine. His breath hitched in his chest.

“Perhaps,” Bard agreed. To what he did not know.

He turned and left, proud that he only hesitated once on his way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so did anyone else notice that *incredibly* small amount that thranduil poured into the glass he gave bard? seriously, go back and watch that scene and laugh at how he pours about two drops in there.
> 
> that being said... thranduil is sometimes not the wisest person. had he actually thought gandalf was right and that there was indeed an army of orcs headed for them, i do not think he would’ve given bard even a sip of the strong shit he had sitting on his table... which lends itself to another headcanon of mine--ever notice how often thranduil is drinking ON screen? it’s too angsty to discuss in this series but let’s just say that I firmly believe the king’s personal store is quite a bit more… potent than what is commonly found in the barrels.


	3. To Thrandy, With Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard gives a toast and thanks the elves for their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half of the credit for this fic should go to the lovely [spanglesandsass](http://spanglesandsass.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

Not long after the battle was the clean-up; help had poured in from both Thranduil and Dain's kin, in manpower and provisions. And not long after the clean-up, in an attempt to lift spirits, followed a small, modest gathering. But where the food and entertainment were humble, the dwarves had seen fit to bestow upon them an extraordinary stockpile of drink. And to the people of Dale, it was all the excuse they needed. It was why Bard now sat next to his children at what had become the focal point of the courtyard, smiling and laughing and so, _so_  grateful.

But Bard was _not_ drunk. He was not. He'd had a few drinks, some wine the elves had brought with, but he was resolutely not drunk.

His tongue didn’t agree with him, however. Which was why when someone yelled out, ‘Speech, speech!’ he found himself staring down at the tired and worn, but  _happy_ faces of the citizens of Dale and a host of elves from the Woodland Realm, ready to address them all. Thranduil himself had even seen fit to grace them with his presence, sitting at an ornate chair at the end of Bard’s table smirking slightly as he watched the man stand up.

"Citizen of Dale. Of Mirkwood. I will keep this short. Much has changed over the past moon," Bard started out. "We have suffered great losses."

There was an appropriate moment of silence as men and elf alike bowed their heads.

"But tonight, we celebrate the fact that we are here. That we are  _alive_!”

A round of applause and a few cheers went up in the audience.

"Tonight we give thanks that we live to fight another day! We live to _love_ another day,” he said. His eyes flickered over to Thranduil, who was still quietly smirking. “And we owe all of this not only to the very people of Laketown-that-was who are here before me, but also to our allies of the Woodland Realm.”

The elves all politely nodded, appreciative of their reception.

"To you, my fellow-citizens!" Bard held up his goblet. Everyone followed suit, cheering.

"To you, our friends!" He indicated the elves once more, the cheers grew louder and Bard couldn't help but grin.

Finally, he turned towards Thranduil. “And to you. Without your help, the outcome of this war would have been vastly different. Hail, King Thrandy!” He threw out, laughing at his own joke.

There was a second of stunned silence, but the people of Dale took that beat to inhale before laughing uproariously. Even the elves were smiling, though it fought with expressions of disbelief on many of them. Bard proudly watched as the smirk evaporated off of Thranduil’s face, replaced by something indicating extreme… discomfort. And maybe just a hint of anger.

When the guard standing next to Thranduil’s opulent chair sniggered, the King’s head whipped around. But, by the time he pinpointed the source of the sound, the guard’s face was a blank canvas.

Bard howled with laughter while simultaneously hoping he lived to see the next day.


	4. Song the Bardman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil offers his advice to the new King of Dale. The new King of Dale turns out to be quite the vocalist.

"You worry," Thranduil said. That much was clear by the expression on Bard’s face as he looked down at the celebration below.

“I do not,” Bard lied rather unconvincingly.

Bard glanced over and, seeing the look on Thranduil’s face, gave a half-hearted shrug and a wry grin. "No more than any king, that is," he clarified.

Thranduil smiled in response and walked out onto the balcony, where Bard was standing with his hands on the parapet.

“But you are not just any king,” Thranduil said. Bard looked at him again, eyebrows furrowed in curiosity.

"You do yourself a disservice," he continued. "I have seen my share of men rule. I have yet to meet one quite like you."

Bard smiled, a far too brief thing, before he sighed. “Is that a good thing?” He asked.

"You care for your people--" Thranduil started.

"But they are not just my people,” Bard said, abruptly. “They were my neighbors, my friends... my family."

Thranduil’s lifted brow at the interruption went unnoticed by Bard. "Yes,” Thranduil agreed. “And are they not still?" He asked.

Bard remained silent, turning back to look at his people below.

“You think yourself a different person simply because of the crown atop your head. It is folly. You are their king precisely because of who you were and still are.”

Bard huffed out a short laugh.

“I do not know how to rule,” Bard admitted quietly.

“One king does not have to rule like another,“ Thranduil said. “It would be for the betterment of all if you did not take after your predecessor, as much as he could be called a ruler.”

Bard smiled as Thranduil continued. “But I will not lie to you. It will not be easy,” he said. “Even for those born into the role, those who know they will someday ascend the throne, there will be times of strife and struggle.”

Bard laughed outright. “That does not make me feel any better,” he said.

Thranduil smiled. “You were chosen to rule by your people, my king. You were not forced upon them; you did not claw your way to the top, ousting those who would defy you. They chose you because they believe in you.”

Bard hummed.

“You must have faith,” Thranduil said. “In them and in yourself.”

They lapsed into silence, listening to the music and raucous laughter that floated up from the tents below.

“Your children, are they enjoying themselves tonight?” Thranduil asked.

“Aye,” Bard said. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen them this happy.”

“You have done a fine job raising them. You should be proud,” Thranduil said.

Bard shot him a look. “Do not think I don’t know what you are doing.”

“I know not of what you speak,” Thranduil said innocently, eyebrows going up.

“You mean to imply that my standing as a single father to three wonderful kids will somehow translate into my rule over an entire town.” Bard said bluntly.

“I said no such thing.” Thranduil said with a smirk.

Bard rolled his eyes. “No, you did not. But you implied, and we both know things are not so simple.”

“No, they are not,” Thranduil agreed. “But it is as good a start as any.”

Bard laughed and looked at Thranduil. “One thing I can say for certain, I have found myself enjoying our talks,” Bard said. “I hope they will continue.”

Thranduil smiled in tacit agreement, warming at the innocent admission but finding himself at a loss of words. A rare occurrence he didn’t much care for. He watched Bard’s profile, illuminated by the light of the moon and stars. The man had frequently been on Thranduil’s mind after their conversation in the tent nearly a year prior. It occurred to Thranduil in that moment that he had not been alone with Bard since, and that they had left things on a peculiar note that he was still not sure what to make of.

He would not lie to himself and say he wasn’t attracted to the newly crowned King of Dale, but that acknowledgment didn’t make his course any clearer. There was much to consider before making any decisions, but part of him yearned to reach out and press his hand to Bard’s cheek, to feel the roughness of it. He yearned to bend down and capture Bard’s lips in his own, to run his fingers through Bard’s dark hair. But now was not the time. Truthfully, Thranduil didn’t know if there would ever be a time for such actions.

Before the wild and unfamiliar impulse could get the better of him, Thranduil spoke.

“You should be with your people now,” he said.

Bard shook his head once. “They do not need their stodgy old king around in the midst of their celebration. It was not so long ago that their moods would drop the moment the Master stepped in. I do not wish that for them tonight.”

“It is because of you they celebrate,” Thranduil stated. “If you had not slain the dragon, if you had not led your people in battle, there would be no one alive to do so.”

Bard quite clearly remained unconvinced.

“Do you think I do not join my people in times of celebration?” Thranduil asked.

Bard lifted an eyebrow and Thranduil rolled his eyes.

“Yes, even I have been known to have fun on occasion,” Thranduil said.

“Now that I would like to see,” Bard looked him over. “But I believe you said one king does not have to rule like another?”

“There are exceptions,” Thranduil said loftily.

Bard smirked. “I expect you will be the majority of them?”

“Of course.”

Bard laughed again. Thranduil liked the sound of it.

“Go,” Thranduil said. “Be with your people.”

Bard sighed and pushed himself away from the parapet. “Thank you for your council, King Thranduil,” he said as he moved to leave. Thranduil bowed his head in reply.

Bard paused in the doorway. “One question before I leave,” he said.

“Yes?” Thranduil asked.

Bard stared at him seriously for a moment before speaking again. “What were you doing here in the first place? Were you looking for me?”

Thranduil lifted his chin. “I was merely passing by.”

“Merely passing by the balcony in my private chambers?” Bard asked.

“Tell me, Dragonslayer,” Thranduil said, addressing him with a sober look. “What do you think?”

Thranduil turned back to the stars, but not before he caught a glimpse of a smile on Bard’s face as he left.

He watched from above as Bard crossed the courtyard to the tents that had been set up for the night’s festivities. For as much as these were still a struggling people, they were certainly a merry group. Thranduil figured it only right; they had many reasons to be thankful this night. Officially claiming Bard as their king was not the least of them.

Thranduil let himself smile at the cheer that went up when the people of Dale saw their new king enter. Thranduil had not spoken any untruths; Bard would be a fine ruler. For all that he was inexperienced and uncertain, Thranduil had seen Bard’s bravery and selflessness firsthand. And while Thranduil had not said as much out loud, Bard would not be alone in this, vowing to himself that he would see Dale flourish again. Tauriel’s words had struck deep and Legolas’ departure had twisted the knife. A painful wake-up call, but Thranduil could no longer afford to lock he and his people away, letting themselves languish and grow stagnate as the world around them changed. His peculiar personal feelings for the King of Dale just made Thranduil’s resolve strengthen that much more.

Lost in thought as he gazed at the night sky above, Thranduil did not find his way back to the celebration until much later. He stopped and checked in with his guards; orc sightings became scarcer by the week but were still enough of a concern that he felt it best to not leave Dale unguarded. And, seeing as this was a celebration for Dale, Thranduil saw no reason their own guard should not take part. He gladly stationed his own people in their place for the night.

It was as he stood in the courtyard talking with his captain that Thranduil heard familiar music. It was so unexpected and disconcerting that Thranduil trailed off midway through a sentence.

“My lord?” His captain asked.

Thranduil inhaled abruptly. “Report to me in the morning,” he said, ignoring the concern. Without thought, he walked straight for the source of the song.

Approaching the largest tent where the makeshift band had set up, Thranduil spotted Bard immediately. A difficult task it was not, as he now stood well over a head taller than those around him due to the chair he stood on. His face was flush, no doubt with drink, but he was smiling and laughing as he tried to lead the people around him in a song. Stodgy and old indeed, Thranduil thought.

“ _Heave ho! Bang bump! Roll-roll-rollin' down the hole!_ ” Bard sang, some of the townsfolk joining in. Clearly it was not the first time they had gone through the song that night.

Thranduil’s heart stilled in his chest when recognition dawned, remembering a time long past when a small child had sat upon his lap repeating those same words, much to the delight of his watching parents. He was rooted to the spot, unmoving as they made their way through the rest of the song, a slightly altered version to the one that Thranduil himself knew. A cold, sweet melancholy washed over him as he listened and watched, spotting Bard’s own children singing along, expressions a mixture of paternal embarrassment and absolute adoration.

Thranduil’s heart ached both for what had passed and for what had yet to come, a lonely ache that seemed to stretch for eons in front of him. He felt all the more the intruder as Bard smiled back at them and reached down to lift Tilda up onto the chair with him, spinning her around in a circle as her feet dangled in the air. She giggled madly before her father put her back down on the ground.

It was as the song came to a close and the people started applauding that Bard spotted him, tucked away as he was. Bard awarded him with such a warm grin that Thranduil couldn’t help but feel some of the ice in his chest dislodge. Thranduil was caught even more off guard by the wink thrown his way before Bard gave a dramatic bow and hopped off the chair to loud cheers.

Bard would have no problem with his people, Thranduil thought. But there might be some matters to attend to regarding the Elvenking himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. this was originally conceived the day i found out how well [luke evans can sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZOkWV9POcs) (holy crap)
> 
> 2\. the song bard sings is [roll-roll-roll-roll](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Roll-Roll-Roll-Roll) from the book. it made an appearance in the '77 cartoon as [ rollin' down the hole](http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Rollin%27_Down_the_Hole) and can be heard over the lovely [live-action barrel scene here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lo7zHslr890).
> 
> 3\. there's no way that thranduil and his wife didn't teach that song to young legolas.
> 
> 4\. there's a definite story to how bard learned it as well.


	5. Hail to the King, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little help, Bard makes a decision.

Bard poured himself a glass of wine before he settled into his chair with a sigh. After a long week of talks between the three kingdoms, things were as settled as they would likely ever be. Dale now stood on firm ground with both its neighbors and Bard could sleep easy.

Tomorrow, he thought, he would go out and help with whatever he could find. He missed the way his muscles would ache pleasantly after a long day of physical labor. The ache and exhaustion of his mind after days of political talk was hardly the same. He missed getting his hands dirty and seeing the fruits of his labor in front of him. Decision made, he took a drink and felt lighter than he had in days.

He would, of course, have to see the elves off as any good king would first. They would be leaving early, shortly after dawn. The thought made Bard frown.

He had not had a chance to speak with the Elvenking privately for days. After the elves arrived, they had all been thrust into meeting upon meeting, with little to no time for pleasantries. There were contracts to be negotiated and alliances to establish or rebuild and, outside of a few exchanged glances and smirks, there had been no time for any casual interaction between the two.

He had, however, found his eyes drawn to Thranduil throughout the day. He enjoyed the flashes of emotion, annoyance typically, that flashed across Thranduil’s face as the conversation droned on around them. They were glimpses into Thranduil’s mind that Bard felt only he was privy to, if only because he was the only one paying enough attention.

Bard also enjoyed the way the corners of Thranduil’s lips would curl up slightly anytime Dain was forced to address him directly, knowing how much the dwarf disliked him but unable to say anything when it was clear that, out of the three kingdoms, Thranduil held the upper hand on nearly everything. Or the way that Thranduil’s eyebrows would twitch when Bard was called upon to speak, as if relieved or maybe just interested in what Bard had to say.

Even when they had broken apart for meals, or to reconvene with their advisors, Bard had sought glimpses of Thranduil, his silver-blond hair catching and glinting in the sunlight. He had more than once found himself outright staring at the slim figure across bustling streets. In the spring sunlight, Dale was pleasantly warm, enough so that Thranduil had divested himself of his typical outer robe, leaving Bard surprised at just how trim and lean the elf was, though it left him no less intimidating to be around.

Bard, fully lost in his thoughts, took another drink as he let himself sink further back into his chair. He held onto his glass as he sighed wistfully, letting himself get wrapped up in thoughts of Thranduil. It had been months since their innocent encounter in Bard’s room, but the pull he felt towards Thranduil had only grown stronger in the interim. Bard wanted to understand Thranduil better, he wanted to know the thoughts that swirled around the elf’s head, he wanted to--

“He leaves in the morning, doesn’t he?”

Bard nearly jumped out of his skin, the voice shocking him out of his thoughts. Sigrid stood in the doorway, looking at him with a small, but knowing smile on her face.

“Who?” Bard asked.

“King Thranduil,” Sigrid said.

Bard made a noise that was somewhere in the vicinity of surprise and confusion.

“Da,” Sigrid said seriously. “I know that look on your face. You used to look at our mother like that. Now I see it when you look at the Elvenking.”

“What--” Bard started, unsure if he was going to deny it or apologize.

“It’s fine,” Sigrid interrupted, saving him the decision. “It’s been a long time since we lost her, you know? We’re all okay. And we couldn’t have asked for a better father. We’re all happy and healthy and--we want to see you happy too.”

Gods bless her, Bard thought. Whatever errors he might have made as a father, his children never ceased to amaze him with their startling insight and compassion.

“I am happy,” Bard stated truthfully. Even if he lived the rest of his days out just as he was, he would forever be content with the knowledge that his children had escaped their rough beginnings unscathed and would now be able to live in peace. That was enough for him.

Sigrid smiled. “I know, Da. But I think you could be happier.”

That gave Bard pause. He was not one to lie to himself, yet he had not been willing to face the truth entirely. What had been developing, ever so slowly, between him and Thranduil was not simply that of friendship. Not with the way Bard’s stomach would flutter at his mere presence, or the way he found his eyes drawn to the Elvenking like a moth to flame. His heartbeat picked up in his chest, knowing that his admittance or denial could very well be a turning point that would mark the rest of his life.

If he was being completely honest, Bard knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to march out of the house right away, bolstered by the pleasant buzz and courage the wine had given him, and give Thranduil a reason not to leave in the morning. Not until they had squared away whatever had been stirring between them. It would not do for Bard to tarry, not when the next time he saw Thranduil could be a year hence. Or longer. He was, after all, only a man.

The final thought stopped Bard short, the bold feeling in his chest dissipating instantly, leaving him feeling flat and weighted down. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, trying to scrub away his sudden exhaustion.

“What could the King of the Elves possibly want with your silly old da?” He asked. He aimed to make a joke of it, to wave off Sigrid’s words as if they hadn’t struck a fatal blow, but his voice betrayed him.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just a man, Sigrid. I’m only a--”

“A king? Unless that crown on your head is merely decoration.”

Bard’s mouth snapped shut. His brows furrowed. Sigrid was right, as she usually was. Bard was a king. He had _slayed a dragon._ And while he may not be an elf, by all rights he was royalty and Thranduil’s equal, and would be considered as such by most.

“You’re right,” Bard said. “I _am_ a king.”

Sigrid’s eyebrows went up, the way they so often did when she thought Bard had done something foolish. It was a familiar look on her teenage face.

Bard stood up, quickly drinking the rest of his glass before setting it on the table next to his chair.

“Where are Bain and Tilda?” He asked as he crossed the room to pull his shoes back on.

“Asleep. It’s late, Da.”

Bard nodded absently as he finished lacing his boots.

“I’m going to go… take care of something,” he couldn’t risk looking at Sigrid’s face as he straightened his sleeves. He cleared his throat and fought the blush that threatened his cheeks. “If I’m not back shortly, will you look after things until I come home?”

“Of course, Da.” He could hear the smirk in her words.

He ignored it and grabbed his jacket, the night still came with a chill in the air despite the warmer daylight. He straightened his clothing out and then moved for the doorway, stopping when he reached Sigrid. He looked down at her and placed a hand on her cheek.

“You are too smart for your own good,” he said before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Well someone in this house ought to be.” She replied.

He smiled as he pulled her into a hug with another kiss to her hair.

“You are certainly right about that.”

* * *

 

Bard made his way quickly down the street to the courtyard where the elves had made their camp. Were it just Thranduil and his council, they would have stayed in Bard’s home, but it was the first visit since winter had ended and an entire host of elves had come along. Bard had made the offer all the same, but Thranduil had refused and said they would make do.

The familiar tent drew nearer and Bard’s pace sped until he was on the verge of running. The wine he had drank no doubt giving him more courage and removing self consciousness as he mentally prepared the speech he would give to Thranduil.

The guards posted outside Thranduil’s door did not stop him as he brushed through with no warning.

“Thranduil, I wish to speak with you--” the words died in his throat as he caught sight of the Elvenking.

Far from his normal appearance, Bard was surprised to find Thranduil standing across the room wearing a loose fitted tunic and soft, dark pants that clung to his legs. Staring down at a map upon the table, he looked far more relaxed than Bard had ever seen him. It was an odd but welcome sight.

Thranduil himself looked surprised but not entirely caught off-guard. As if he were used to men simply barging into his quarters with no announcement, but wasn’t expecting Bard in particular.

“I’m--I’m sorry,” Bard stuttered, heart hammering. “I didn’t think of the late hour. I wanted to--”

“Speak to me, yes. So you’ve said.” Thranduil responded.

Every thought flew out of Bard’s head when Thranduil’s gaze met his. The planned speech simply ceased to exist and Bard could not make a single word pass through his lips. No, instead all he desired was to cross the room and see if Thranduil’s lips were as soft and pleasant as they looked from afar.

Bard straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, gathering his courage. Thranduil tilted his head, watching with curiosity as Bard approached him.

Bard walked right up to him and in one swift move, knowing full well that Thranduil would be able to stop him any time he pleased, cupped the back of Thranduil’s head, fingers threading through his hair, and pressed their lips together.

There was barely time for Bard to consider whether or not Thranduil reciprocated his desire. A short moment later, Thranduil’s hand came up and cupped Bard’s cheek as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. An arm wrapped around Bard’s waist, pulling him closer to Thranduil’s body, and Bard felt his knees go weak from the intensity at which he found himself being kissed.

The first brush of Thranduil’s tongue against his lip sent a shiver down his spine, and when he opened his mouth enough to grant access, he had to grip Thranduil’s waist to keep steady. The warm, firm muscle he found beneath the tunic, however, did not make it any easier.

Never one to simply take, Bard focused his energy on giving back, wanting to reduce Thranduil to the raw bundle of nerves that he found himself. It was a flurry of movement after that. The slick slide of tongues and gentle nipping of teeth with an occasional wandering hand.

A thump and dull pain in Bard’s back finally broke them apart, Thranduil having backed him into a one of the tent poles. Bard opened his eyes and found Thranduil looking back at him, an intense expression on his face that cleared only slightly when a smile fell upon his reddened lips.

“That was not what I expected when you barged in,” Thranduil admitted.

“Is that a complaint?” Bard asked, amazed at his own ability to find words.

“I could show you how little I mind, if you wish,” Thranduil said, voice low.

“Please do.”

* * *

 

Later, as they sat half undressed at Thranduil’s table snacking on fruits while discussing the events of the prior week, Bard interrupted Thranduil’s idle musings on further opportunities between the kingdoms.

“Tomorrow we should discuss our trade routes along the river. It seems I am down one barrel collector--”

“Tomorrow? You’re not leaving?”

“No. I find it would be in the best interest of my people were I to stay and… negotiate a few things with the King of Dale.” As he spoke, his eyes trailed down Bard’s naked chest. “My people will still head back to Greenwood in the morning, save for a few of my guards,” he finished.

Bard raised an eyebrow. “With so few of you, there’s certainly no need for you to remain out here in the courtyard.”

“No, I imagine not,” Thranduil agreed.

Bard hummed. “My original offer stands, of course. I have enough room available.”

Thranduil smirked. “I had hoped that would be the case.

“It’s settled then. I trust you’ll find my accommodations more comfortable than sleeping out here. And you will be needing your rest, after all.”

“Oh?” Thranduil asked, eyes darkening.

“I’ve promised to help in the fields the next few days. If you wish to negotiate with the King of Dale, it will have to be there. I trust you don’t mind getting dirty.” Bard said, smiling.

Bard expected a cocked eyebrow, or even subtle eye roll. He did not expect the sudden serious expression on Thranduil’s face.

“For you?” Thranduil said. “Anything.”


	6. The Wine King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard is as sober as they come. Thranduil? Not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the rating change before continuing! I also tagged this as 'dubious consent' due to the involvement of alcohol, but rest assured everyone is in complete control of their actions.

It had been a long and trying day. Exhaustion crept into every bone of Bard’s body as he and his guard approached the flickering lights of the gate to the Woodland Realm far later than they had intended.

Truly, it was a beautiful evening. The forest felt strangely light, as if the sickness in the air and the foul creatures lurking in shadow had decided to take a rest. The weather was pleasantly warm with a slight breeze that gently caressed Bard’s face as they rode. Even the stars could be seen shining down brightly between the trees.

Another time, Bard would have gladly taken a few moments to enjoy this respite, the feeling of true peace that rarely came to him these days, but for now his mind was full of thoughts of the bed that he knew to be waiting for him in the King’s halls.

* * *

 

They exchanged polite greetings with the elven guards before they dismounted and their horses were led away. As they entered the cavernous space, a familiar elf appeared beside Bard, as if he’d been waiting for their arrival.

“Galion,” Bard greeted.

“My Lord,” the elf returned. “King Thranduil has asked me to remind you that you are welcome to join in the feast--”

“Galion,” Bard interrupted. “Another day I would be pleased to join your people in celebration. Tonight, however, we have arrived far later than I intended, and I am weary. I want for nothing more than a warm bed on which to sleep.”

“As you wish, King Bard,” he said. “Shall I show you the way?”

Bard smiled. “Thank you, but I think I should know by now where I am headed.”

“Good evening, then,” Galion said, smiling at him. He gave a quick bow of the head before turning away and heading back the way they had come.

Bard smiled at his retreating back before resuming his course to the room that had become so familiar to him as of late. His body ached, his mind was spent, and he couldn’t wait to rid himself of the uncomfortable trappings of the day and slip into the exquisite sheets that adorned Thranduil’s bed.

* * *

 

Hours later, a dip in the bed roused Bard from his slumber, just enough to notice someone sliding in behind him. He was about to slip back into unconsciousness when a feather light touch to the back of his neck grabbed his attention. Another touch followed, one that Bard recognized as a set of soft lips brushing against his skin. Arms slipped around Bard’s waist, pulling him back against a warm, solid body. Awake now, Bard smiled as Thranduil gently nuzzled at the nape of his neck.

He hummed at the pleasant feeling of Thranduil pressed firmly against him, a comforting presence that filled Bard’s chest with warmth and heavy emotion. The warmth, however, was quickly replaced with fire when Thranduil’s hips shifted against Bard, displaying just what was on his mind.

“Good party, I take it?” Bard asked innocently.

Thranduil mumbled something unintelligible into Bard’s hair.

“Is there any wine left for the next celebration?” Bard laughed.

“I’m sure we can find more,” Thranduil replied before lavishing Bard’s shoulder with soft kisses. The slick feeling of Thranduil’s tongue against the curve of his neck made Bard’s breath hitch in his chest.

“What was it Dain called you in front of Erebor?” Bard asked.

He felt a huff of warm breath against the back of his neck.

“I do not feel like discussing _dwarves_ at the moment,” Thranduil said before pressing his lips to the sensitive skin behind Bard’s ear. “In fact, I do not desire to speak at all.”

Bard hummed in response, enjoying the unusually overt display of affection. After a moment, unable to resist, he spoke again. “If I remember correctly, he called you a Woodland Sprite.”

“Bard,” Thranduil said in warning, scraping his teeth lightly over the skin of Bard’s shoulder.

“Mmm, yes I think that was it,” Bard said. Thranduil’s hand trailed lightly down Bard’s chest, fingers sliding under the fabric of his pants.

“But that’s not right,” Bard continued, cutting off with a gasp as Thranduil’s hand wrapped around him.

“Woodland _Nymph_ is what I’d call you,” he managed to say before groaning at Thranduil’s light touch.

He felt the vibration of Thranduil’s laughter against his back.

“Well then,” Thranduil said into his ear. “Let me try to live up to that name.”

Bard turned his head and felt Thranduil shift up onto his elbow behind him, raising himself enough to capture Bard’s lips in a searing kiss. His hand around Bard’s cock remained steady, effortlessly stroking Bard until he was hard and rigid in Thranduil’s palm.

Despite his words, Thranduil seemed content to do nothing more than that, his tongue delving into Bard’s mouth as he worked Bard over with his hand, making no move to further things. After a time, Bard groaned and gripped Thranduil’s forearm tightly, not wanting things to be over quite so soon.

Thranduil slowed his hand, releasing Bard gently before moving from his lips back to his neck. Bard hissed when Thranduil bit at the delicate skin.

“When I opened my door tonight and saw you in my bed, I realized there was nowhere else you belonged more,” Thranduil spoke softly into Bard’s flesh. Bard shivered.

Thranduil kissed his way down to Bard’s shoulder as he continued.  “You deserve to be laid bare upon my sheets and torn apart by pleasure every night.”

He shifted and moved Bard until he was laying on his back, with Thranduil hovering over him.

“You deserve to be worshipped.” He said, looking at Bard with such intensity that Bard had to force himself not to look away.

Bard lifted a hand, running his fingertips along Thranduil’s cheek before resting his thumb on Thranduil’s chin.

“It is you who deserves to be worshipped, my king,” Bard said. “It is you whose beauty rivals that of the stars in the sky. And that is to say nothing of your kindness, your strength, your bravery…” Bard trailed his hand down to Thranduil’s bare chest, spreading his fingers wide. “And your heart.”

Thranduil’s lips parted, his eyes moving across Bard’s face, as if drinking in the sight of him.

“If I did not know better, I would say you were but a trick of my mind, flattering me so,” Thranduil said. “There is not a creature that walks this earth that could affect me the way you have, Bard.” The words were spoken like a confession.

He didn’t give Bard a chance to respond in kind before he closed the distance between them again. But this kiss was different. It was not searing, it was not forceful, but it was no less passionate. It was, instead, a warm, gentle, and familiar conversation between two lovers. One that they both easily lost themselves in.

They moved languidly against one another, dawn still hours away with an empty schedule ahead giving them no reason to rush. Bard found his earlier exhaustion had vanished in the face of more promising possibilities. His hands roamed the soft expanse of Thranduil’s already bare skin, feeling the muscles in his back flex and bunch as he gently moved his hips against Bard’s. He scraped his nails across the unmarred skin, smiling at the low noise Thranduil made in response.

Thranduil’s hand moved between them, pushing gently at Bard’s pants until Bard shifted his hips enough to slide them off and kick them aside. The pleasure of skin on skin contact made him shiver, goosebumps racing across his flesh. Thranduil nipped at his bottom lip before running over the sensitive area with his tongue, eliciting a gasp from Bard. He felt the responding smile in Thranduil’s kiss.

Bard lost himself in the feeling of Thranduil above him, the gentle weight that pressed Bard into the bed. Thranduil was leaner than Bard had first imagined, but he still cut an imposing figure, and being under him in such a way never failed to remind Bard of just how large and impressive he was.

With a final, soft press of lips, Thranduil moved away from Bard’s mouth and worked his way down Bard’s chest slowly, lavishing attention to every inch of bare skin as he moved. He shifted Bard’s knees apart with his own legs, and pushed them up until Bard’s feet were flat on the bed. After that, he wasted no time in maneuvering Bard’s legs over his shoulders and enveloping Bard’s cock in the tight wet heat of his mouth.

Bard groaned and curled forward at the sudden shock of pleasure. The rumble of laughter from Thranduil sent a spark straight from his cock to his spine as he tried to relax back into the sheets.

Thranduil was far more talented than he had any right to be, Bard often thought, and this area was no different. He groaned as Thranduil took him deeper, his tongue doing wicked things as he pulled back up slowly. If he wanted to, Thranduil could keep it up until Bard was nothing more than an exposed nerve begging for his release. It was an experience Bard would never forget and one that had been repeated often. However, Thranduil now seemed to have a goal in mind.

As his head kept up its slow, torturous motions, Bard felt Thranduil’s hand searching for something in the sheets next to them. The sound of a stopper being removed from a vial answered his question immediately, another flare of heat surging in his belly at the thought. Thranduil had come to bed prepared for this.

The first intrusion of Thranduil’s oiled finger made him shiver, his body warming all over. He gasped as Thranduil sought out his target and moved just right, Bard’s fingers clenching the sheet in his hand as his other arm lay across his forehead. When Bard was loose enough, Thranduil carefully inserted another. The resulting stretch around Thranduil’s long digits a welcome and intoxicating feeling. By the time Thranduil was finished preparing him, Bard thought he might end up begging before the night was over after all.

Thranduil removed his fingers, leaving Bard feeling cold and empty. He lifted his arm from his eyes to watch what Thranduil would do next. His question quickly answered when Thranduil lifted himself to his knees and wrapped a hand around Bard’s ankle, tugging sharply and pulling Bard further down the bed before covering him with his own body.

Bard wasn’t allowed any time to recuperate as Thranduil took his mouth in a passionate kiss and hooked an arm underneath Bard’s knee. The blunt head of Thranduil’s cock pressed firmly against Bard’s entrance, needing only a small amount of pressure before sliding in due to Thranduil’s thorough preparation. He penetrated Bard deep, filling him whole and leaving him gasping for air.

Thranduil pulled out slowly, his cock dragging sweetly over places that made Bard see stars, before pushing back in firmly but with care. Bard’s fingers tangled in Thranduil’s hair as Thranduil’s mouth devoured his, kissing with an expertise that did not falter even as he began to thrust into Bard with fervor.

The room was filled with the vulgar, wet sounds of their lovemaking; the slap of skin on skin and quiet breathy moans that emanated from them both. Thranduil pushed at Bard’s knee until it pressed into his chest, changing the angle of his entry and causing Bard to cry out in pleasure. Bard felt Thranduil’s teeth against his lips as the elf smiled with pride.

Bard would not last much longer if Thranduil kept up his pace, and it seemed that was exactly what he had in mind. Thranduil pushed Bard’s knee to the side, just enough that he could press the entire length of his body against Bard as he moved, trapping Bard’s cock between them. The pressure, combined with Thranduil’s assured and swift motions, had Bard holding his breath as he felt his release surging just below the surface. His hand sought purchase on Thranduil’s waist, fingers digging into the smooth flesh.

Thranduil slid away from Bard’s lips and pressed his mouth into the side of Bard’s neck. With his warm breath, the hint of teeth and tongue, and his unerring ability to hit his mark, Thranduil gave Bard no choice.

His body drew taut, muscles bunching and contracting as the fire spread through him, throwing him into unrelenting ecstasy. Bard spilled between their bodies, hot and messy as he moaned Thranduil’s name like a prayer. Thranduil returned it in kind, whispering Bard’s name softly against his ear. He lifted his head as he picked up the pace, sending aftershocks coursing through Bard’s body.

It was not long before Thranduil’s own release was upon him, and Bard turned his head to watch, captivated by the beautiful rapture written plain upon his face.

Thranduil’s movements eventually slowed, his lips brushing gently over Bard’s with small and tender kisses. They lay together for a moment, catching their breath and languishing in their mutual satisfaction. When Thranduil pulled out gently and lay next to Bard, Bard allowed himself to be turned and pulled against him, his back firmly pressed against Thranduil’s chest.

Thranduil’s arms wrapped around Bard’s waist once again, and Bard covered Thranduil’s hands with his own, fingers interlocking.

Bard laughed to himself when he felt Thranduil’s forehead rest against the back of his neck with a long sigh.

“Tales should be sung of your wickedness,” Bard said, his voice rough.

Thranduil hummed in response before they lapsed into silence. It stretched long enough that Bard thought Thranduil had already fallen asleep, the wine and their earlier activities no doubt leaving him exhausted. It came as a surprise to him when Thranduil spoke again.

“There are many tales that could be told of me,” Thranduil said quietly. “But you are the only one I wish to share in this.”

Bard warmed at the casual affection behind Thranduil’s sleep-laced words.

“If you like hearing of lore and legend, remind me to tell you the story of Tuor,” Thranduil continued. “You may find it interesting.”

There was something in the tone of Thranduil’s voice the piqued Bard’s curiosity but he could hear the fatigue in the words. It was a feeling his own body shared.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Bard replied quietly.

They had the time. It could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Thranduil isn't _drunk_ really, it's more like... pleasantly buzzed. Enough to loosen his tongue and make him a bit freer with his thoughts and feelings about Bard but not enough to make him do anything he wouldn't do sober.
> 
> Success! I made it to the final chapter! ...maybe. I have an idea for an additional scene set in this 'universe' that would pretty much be a(nother) PWP chapter. 
> 
> What do you guys think?


End file.
